2. Emily

I retreat to my dark corner, pressing my back against the wall, making myself as small as possible. He doesn’t like that much so I try to stay out of his way when he’s down here. Besides, I don’t mind the darkness. The shadows have always been my friends. They surround me like old friends. I welcome their comforting presence.

514 unlocks the door and enters. He doesn’t move for a moment, his face obscured by the shadows, his body shakes uncontrollably as if trying to control himself around me. He does this each time he comes here. He hates having me here, and yet he refuses to let me go.

Before he sewed my mouth shut, I asked him why he kidnapped me since I’ve never done anything to him.

I don’t understand him. I tried, but reading him has been impossible so far.

When the facility was destroyed back in January, I thought I’d finally be free of Azael. I never thought that one of the men who suffered at the hands of that evil angel would harm me. Not physically, I suppose, but being locked in here is torture. 514 has been a prisoner for years, and he had no remorse in taking my freedom away.

What did I ever do to him?

Perhaps this is my karma for all the things I’ve done to the men I love.

After a deep breath, he locks the door as if he’s afraid I’ll escape. There’s little to no chance of that ever happening. Not for lack of trying. The first few weeks after I was kidnapped, I tried to free myself, but nothing worked. I even managed to hide a steak knife and planned to cut out my ankle, but 514 caught me before I could do so. That was the first time I had a meltdown in front of him. I screamed at him, to demand that he tell me why he kidnapped me, but as always, he remained silent.

Just as he is now. Just like he always is.

514 walks up to my mattress and puts a fruit smoothie next to it before sitting on a chair in the middle of the floor. I hate that damn chair. If only I could get to it, I’d break and burn it!

My stomach makes a sound, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since yesterday. But I’m so tired of all the smoothies that I don’t bother grabbing the cup, no matter how hungry I am. Besides, I’ve been starving for so long that the pain in my stomach barely registers.

514 watches me. It’s a habit of his. He comes here daily with the pretext of bringing me food and stares at me for a few hours without saying a word. When he finally becomes bored, he leaves.

In the beginning, I tried talking to him, wanting to know what he planned to do with me, but I received no reply, just his unending muteness.

Our gazes lock, our eyes carefully watching each other. Sometimes, I feel as if we are silently communicating, like a dialogue is happening between us within the depth of our gazes. It’s nonsense, but it makes me feel less alone.

I just wish he would get over whatever sick obsession he has with me and let me go.

If I had listened to Stefan and left when he told me, I would be miles away from here by now, sipping cocktails on a tropical beach, but like the fool I am, I stayed in Veross City, wanting to know everything that Stefan, Alekos, and Reyes had done since the day Jason stole me away from them.

Finding out they had moved on and gotten married threw me into a very dark hole. It was only natural they did so, but I never expected it would affect me so much.

After all this time, I still care about them—more than I’d like to admit.

I still love them. My heart yearns for them, for what could have been.

Minutes slip by like the sand in an hourglass.

His eyes never leave mine. He barely blinks.

His brown eyes are sad. It’s nothing new. They have been like this since the day I first laid eyes on him. Something dark lurks behind his eyes. Probably his demon. Like all Lords, 514 is the vessel of a demon. Unless Azael experimented on him and had his demon replaced with an angel.

From what I heard while in the hands of Azael, no Lord had survived such an ordeal.

The beam of light starts to retreat. It won’t be long until the basement is once again flooded with darkness. I wouldn’t mind being here if I had something to do. I enjoyed doing patchwork and playing the violin before all of this. Even a book would be a great companion in these dark times.

While I haven’t done anything since I woke up except for moving around a bit to use the bucket that serves as a toilet, I’m exhausted. Since I have nothing better to do, I gather the old quilt around me that I found rummaging through the boxes next to my mattress since 514 didn’t bother to give me anything and close my eyes.

My fingers trace the pattern that reminds me of Native American art. 514 is a Native American with deep tanned, russet skin, beautiful brown eyes, and amazingly long, black hair that he mostly wears down or braided. It is not his beauty that makes him stand out, but the number 514 tattooed on his left cheek.

666 is written on my face.

For Azael, we were only a number, the one he gave us.

Today, 514 has several feathers in his hair. I wonder what tribe he’s from. I wish I could ask him. I have so many questions.

Even if I could talk to him, he won’t answer.

It’s as if he is mute. A hot mute, that is, because, so help me God, he is one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen.

“Eat!”

For a moment, I forget to breathe. Did I imagine hearing 514 talk? He never has, so why would he be bothering now?

“Don’t make me force you!” he sneers after a few seconds.

My eyes flutter open, and it takes a bit for my vision to focus, but 514 is no longer sitting, instead, he is hovering over me. How did he move without me hearing him when he was so loud moving around the house?

Not wanting to give 514 any reason to get angry because he can become quite violent when he loses his temper, I grab the cup and force the straw between my sewn lips—he had the ‘courtesy’ of sewing my mouth shut for a second time since I’ve known him—and suck. Banana smoothie floods my mouth. If I could vomit, I would, but since 514 is a very mentally ill person, I’m forcing myself to swallow.

I manage to drink half of the smoothie before I put the cup on the floor and look defiantly at him.

If I could talk, I’d tell him, ‘Make me drink the rest.’